A Day At The Beach
by BananaLollipop7
Summary: "The day you go to the beach is a day rampaging demonic pirates invade," Varric said; Hawke took it as a challenge.


Fenris watched as Hawke marched, determined, towards the sea. She carried a wicker basket in one arm, wore a red and white gingham dress that clashed violently with her ginger hair, and didn't carry her staff. When she'd banged on his front door that afternoon he'd been more than a little surprised.

"What are we doing here?" he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder and opened the basket. From it she took a blue and green chequered rug that she spread on the sand with a flourish. Then she sat down.

"We're having a picnic," she informed him, kicking off her sandals and wiggling her toes.

The elf frowned and approached with caution. "A picnic?" he repeated.

"Sit," she commanded, already pulling out cloth packages and a bottle.

"Why are we having a picnic?" Fenris asked. He drew his massive sword and set it down first, then sat carefully, as though the rug might suddenly transform into a dragon. He arranged the hilt of his sword so he could easily grab it.

"Because," Hawke began, using a small knife to stab the cork of the bottle and pull it out, "when we were at the Vinmark Chasm last month Varric said that the day I went to the beach would be the day rampaging demonic pirates would invade. I take that as a challenge. We are going to have a picnic with no fighting. We're going to be _normal_. This is what normal people do, or so I've been told. Damn I forgot the glasses. Oh well," she shrugged and took a swig of what was probably very expensive wine, then offered the bottle for Fenris.

He accepted automatically but didn't drink. "So why didn't you wear your armour?"

"Because nothing is going to happen. I'm going to enjoy a lovely picnic at the beach with a handsome elf. Then we're going to make out and-"

"You didn't even bring your staff," Fenris interrupted, shaking his head. "If someone were to attack do you know how difficult it would be to defend you?"

Hawke raised one eyebrow, smirking. "Mages are never helpless, Fenris. Besides," she continued, returning her attention to the food parcels, "nothing will happen," she repeated, as though the mantra would actually protect them.

"If you were so sure of that you would've insisted I left my sword and armour behind as well,"

"Fenris," she sighed, "trying to convince you to leave your sword behind would be like paying a compliment to Meredith – painful and ultimately pointless. No pun intended,"

Hawke unwrapped a very neatly cut triangular sandwich – Oriana must've prepared the picnic – and passed it to Fenris. Unfortunately, at that precise moment, a sudden gust of wind picked up a load of sand, and dumped it straight on the sandwich. Fenris sighed.

" _Relax_ ," Hawke said, drawing out the word as if that would really help the wary elf relax. "Eat, drink and be merry,"

"Do you know the rest of that saying?" Fenris asked, shaking the sandwich and watching with dismay at the amount of sand falling off it.

"No and I don't want to either," Hawke replied before stuffing her face. She managed to put whole sandwiches in her mouth at once, minimising the length of time they were exposed to the wind and sand. Fenris wondered if she'd done this before or if that was how she always ate.

He sighed again as he realised she fully intended for them to relax and enjoy a picnic together. It wasn't that the elf had any real objection, he was just acutely aware for several things. One, Hawke was unarmed. Two, they were very exposed. Three, they were completely alone. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not that he was as much unnerved as he was turned on.

He saw Hawke watching him expectantly and resigned himself to the sand-covered-sandwich.

"Defeat isn't exactly relaxing," Hawke said, taking a swig of the wine, "but I'll take it,"

Fenris shook his head. "You're impossible,"

She grinned. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day,"

She leaned back, resting on her elbows, and watched the sea, alternating between swigs of wine and eating her weight in more neatly cut savoury snacks. Fenris couldn't really believe they were there. Not on the beach having a picnic – though that was unusual – but there together.

Every time she turned up at his house, or kissed him, or touched him, he still didn't quite believe it. It'd seemed as though everything had conspired to keep them apart, but she'd not left, and he'd not left either, despite his better judgment. And now they were together, even as the world spun rapidly out of control around them.

Aveline had once said Hawke was the centre of the storm, calm and still while events chaotically ran into each other around her. Fenris didn't see it like that. Hawke was too quick to get involved, too passionate and determined to ever really be described as the calm centre of anything. And though he occasionally reminded her she'd live longer if she didn't constantly try to fix other people's problems, she hadn't mellowed any. And he liked that.

Looking at her now, head tilted towards the sun, bottle in one hand and pastry crumbs down her dress, it was hard to picture her as the Champion of Kirkwall, a woman who'd duelled and killed the Arishok in single combat to secure the freedom of a friend.

She saw him looking at her. A sly smile crept over her features. "What?"

Instead of answering, he took the initiative. Fenris leaned over and kissed her. She opened her mouth to him and wrapped her arms round his neck, pulling him down.

"Now you're relaxing," Hawke chuckled.

"Hawke,"

"Hmm?"

"When you picked this spot for a picnic, did it occur to you to check whether the tide was coming in or going out?"

"No,"

"I didn't think so. Incidentally, given that my feet are now wet and our picnic's been washed away, I'd say the tide's coming in,"

"Huh?" Hawke sat up, holding the picnic blanket up under her arms.

True to his word, the wicker basket was a good way out from the coast now, and the seagulls dive-bombing the area around it certainly implied their food was out there too.

"What about the wine?" Hawke asked, looking about.

"I'd be more concerned about your clothes if I were you," Fenris said, sitting up next to her. He was grinning.

Hawke glared at him suspiciously. He pointed to a tiny red dot bobbing up and down on the waves.

"You let them get washed out, didn't you?"

Fenris only grinned further. "You should've worn your armour,"

Hawke pulled the blanket off him and wrapped it round herself. "Well I guess I'll just have to use this instead. Assuming of course you don't mind half of Kirkwall seeing your lover wearing only a picnic blanket,"

Fenris frowned. "You don't fight fair,"

"Just figured that out?" she grinned. "You should probably start swimming,"

But Fenris' gaze locked on something behind her.

"What?" Hawke frowned and looked over her shoulder. At first, she couldn't see anything out of place, then movement caught her eye. Three men were coming their way. Three armed and armoured men. Hawke swore and quickly tied a knot in the blanket to keep it in place.

"Stay behind me," Fenris ordered, drawing his sword and stepping in front of her.

Normally, she might have argued, but given she wore a picnic blanket and only had her magic to defend them with, Hawke let it slide.

Two of the approaching men carried swords, and one was armed with a bow. At least none of them were mages.

"Who are you?" Fenris demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"Name's Evets, as in Evets Marauders, the folk you killed a few years back! Now you're gonna die what you done!"

Hawke didn't miss a beat. A sweep of her hand and ice stabbed from the ground, impaling one of the men through his leg. He screamed and fell, but Evets dodged, avoiding ice, his companion, and a swing from Fenris that would've cleaved him in two.

"Can't we talk about this?!" Hawke jumped to side as an arrow grazed her arm.

Fenris decapitated the impaled marauder almost in passing as he moved to engage Evets, at the same time as Hawke launched a short, sharp bolt of lightning. The frazzled, headless corpse steamed, the ice melting into the sand.

Another arrow sliced through Hawke's hair as she twisted, and she threw another lightning strike. Her aim was off and she heard Fenris swear as it missed him by an inch.

"Sorry!" she called, and dived to the floor in the nick of time as the archer shot again. She summoned mana and leapt to her feet, hands barely containing the fire. This time she paused for a moment to aim, then hurled it.

The archer froze, then exploded as the fireball smashed into his chest. Body parts went flying and Fenris and Evets were hurled from their feet. Hawke staggered back, then promptly threw herself on the ground, rolling over and over to put out the flames that had caught on her picnic-blanket-makeshift-dress.

She heard movement and looked up just in time to see Fenris stab Evets, the marauder still on the ground. Hawke sighed in relief and stood again, attempting to fix the half burnt blanket-dress.

"Well, what were the chances of that?" Hawke asked, an impish grin on her face.

Fenris replied with a flat, I-told-you-so look. Then he smirked, "They weren't demonic, but they were pirates, and they did rampage,"

Hawke levelled a threatening finger at him. "Not a word to Varric. Not a bloody word,"


End file.
